Slow Burn
by Caitriona3
Summary: Darcy wasn't sure what woke her, but then she felt the butterfly-soft touch of his lips. (There is some deliberate vagueness on the identity of the second character...this is where your imagination gets to play.)


_Author's Note - Deliberately vague...this is where your imaginations can have some fun. I'm pretty sure the rating is correct given the nature of the fic but the "blurry" focus. See bottom of fic for the prompt that brought this fic to life. See my profile for my tumblr info if you would like to send me a prompt._

**Slow Burn**

Darcy Lewis wasn't sure, at first, what nudged her towards wakefulness. Her eyes blinked open, heavy and drowsy. It was dark, no lights coming in through the windows, so she couldn't see anything, but then she felt it – the butterfly-soft touch of his lips drifting from her shoulder up along her collar bone. She swung from drowsy to arousal as his mouth stopped its movement and began sucking the skin just above her pulse point. A slow burn began to build as he nestled there for a moment. There would definitely be a mark there in the morning. Then he began to slowly make his way up the line of her throat. Without thought, she let her head fall back, tilting to the side to give him better access. The rasp of his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin, contrasting with the heat of his breath and the pull of his mouth. Tiny sparks seemed to light under her skin as his mouth slid up to a spot just behind her ear. He nipped at the skin before soothing the slight sting with his tongue. The slow smoldering pool at her core began to flare, unfurling as he then slowly followed her jawline, interspacing nips and kisses with a molasses-slow abandon.

It was too dark to see him. Where was the moon when she needed it?

She squirmed lightly beneath him, wanting nothing more than to touch, but he held her captive. One hand remained trapped under his body where he lounged, half of his weight to one side of her while the rest kept her effectively pinned to the bed. Darcy would have tried with her left hand, but he caught that one and held it above her head, gentle but uncompromising. His free hand splayed across the side of her waist. For a brief moment, an errant thought crossed her mind - where had the sheets gone? Then he drove that thought out as his lips reached her chin, nipping lightly. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak, "I-"

He took possession of her mouth, no indecision, no hesitation in his movements. Possession was the only word for it. His mouth moved over hers, plundering, conquering, using every weapon in his arsenal, lips, teeth, tongue. A low moan built in her throat as his teeth caught her bottom lip and pulled before his tongue returned to its teasing exploration. He let her play, let her tongue play and dart, but he maintained control.

The hand that had been anchored at her waist moved upwards. In contrast to the weight of his mouth, his fingertips barely grazed her pajama top as they traced the line of her body from the curve of her waist to her neck. The light touch was not enough. She arched, asking, practically pleading for more. He refused. The flickering touch skipped upwards, a teasing exploration until he curled his hand around her head, burying his fingers in her hair. Then his hand tightened and her nerve endings began tripping even faster between the light pull of his hand and the pressure of his mouth. Heat coiled through Darcy's veins as the sensations somehow increased the coercion, all but demanding her full surrender.

Her body writhed as the fire grew within her. One of his legs slid over, his thigh nestling between hers. He moved to cover her more thoroughly; her body flush with his, each soft curve pressing into the hard, unyielding form above her. Now a moan did escape, her body's demands increasing suddenly as the heat seemed to ricochet between them. She could feel the smile against her lips as he moved to tease each corner of her mouth before taking ownership of it once again.

He pulled back. Darcy's breath shuddered out of her. Her skin felt too tight, too sensitive. She felt drenched in the sensations surrounding her, like she could drown in them. A warm moist breeze came off the ocean through the wide veranda doors. The sound of the waves soothed her, its lullaby offset by the intensity of the shadow man looming above her. Her body arched up again, seeking his warmth once more. Sunlight crept over the horizon and anticipation lit her eyes. She wanted to see him and then she wanted to them continue what he'd started. A reflection of light glinted in his blue eyes as a wicked smile began to curve his lips…

The shrill ring of her phone crashed through her, bringing her upright in shock before she slumped back down. The lights of the city played through her window. No soothing ocean…no warm breeze… And did the clock really say three a.m.?

The phone rang again.

Her hand scrabbled for it, mind grumbling over the interruption. This had better be important. If it wasn't important, she was going to be so totally pissed. Why did the phone have to ring at exactly that moment? It was so totally unfair.

A third ring caused the phone to vibrate in her hands.

She could feel the temptation to snarl into the phone crawling up her throat, but forced herself to swallow it. After all, despite someone waking her from the best dream at three o'clock in the morning, she didn't want to answer with something like 'someone better be dead'. With her particular circle of friends? Heroes and spies and agents who routinely did crazy stuff like fight alien armies and save the world? It was better not to tempt fate. They'd come too close to permanently losing people already. Steve and Bucky had been basically dead for decades, or whatever you called their time on ice while Thor and Tony had each pretty much been mostly dead at one point or another.

Yes, thank you, it was three a.m. Her mind could use all the Princess Bride references it wanted at three a.m.

She still couldn't go growling something mean into the phone.

Oh, but damn, she really, really wanted to be nasty as she answered her phone.

She restrained herself to an irritated heat, merely muttering as she answered on the fourth ring. "H'lo?"

_Author's Note 2 - From a prompt by ellienop - When her phone rings at three a.m., waking her from the *best* dream, Darcy doesn't answer with "someone better be dead," no matter how annoyed she is, with her friends it's better not to tempt fate._


End file.
